


Eurymedon's Chariot

by ingridmatthews



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingridmatthews/pseuds/ingridmatthews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's been broken too, except that his edges are still big and jagged enough to wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eurymedon's Chariot

His next return to the CIC is not as haunted as the first and he's not tripping over his tongue like he did in the days before. Maybe it's the uniform he now wears, maybe it's the way Tigh can't bear to look at him, let alone accuse him of murder.

Maybe it's just the fact that he's alive and not flung out into open space for crimes he didn't commit that lets him jerk a thumb at Kelly and take his place at the DRADIS with relative ease, even if the screen is scorched, the coordinates quivering.

_Bastards wrecked my station_ he thinks, accepting a bent clipboard someone hands him and blindly signs off on a schedule. He'd once warned Adama that letting _Galactica_ jump into a planet's atmosphere -- gods above -- was a lousy idea, but the Old Man probably took that as inspiration for his insanity.

The lingering smokey smell makes him nauseated. If people are still staring at him, he doesn't know, better yet, he doesn't care. He can't really feel anything and it's strange to be grateful for the numbness as his hands fly over the boards without thought.

He spends most of the morning like that, trying to calibrate things that are completely off. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Helo and there's some conversation, mostly of the "readout five" and "check" kind, but it isn't until he's finished adjusting everything that could possibly be fiddled with that he dares to glance at Helo, who is looking at him thoughtfully, hands clasped behind his back.

Gaeta doesn't remember the man being so grave and impressive-looking. It lends an air of import and calm to the area, especially in a CIC that boasted Tigh as its second-in-command for so long. Not that Tigh isn't still around -- he's scuttling like a one-eyed crab in some corner -- but the bridge is obviously still under Helo's command.

Helo bends over his shoulder to examine the DRADIS readout. Gaeta stiffens, mostly because his life has been in danger for so long it's become second nature to be wary, but Helo merely looks, then moves away with a nod. "That's the clearest reading we've gotten out of that thing in a year, Mr. Gaeta. It seems your girlfriend has missed you."

Something that almost resembles a grin quirks Gaeta's lips. "I suppose. She is kind of a bitch." He pauses. "What else can I fix?"

Helo laughs. "Toss a coin and whatever it hits, that's next on the list."

The nausea quells a bit. Gaeta bites his lip, before asking, "What was it like, jumping into the atmosphere? I mean ... what could it have possibly felt like?"

"Like riding Eurymedon's chariot to Hades," Helo replies. He smiles tightly and there's a strange empathy in his eyes, like a man who's known betrayal and scorn and lived to tell the tale. "Too bad you missed it. Maybe we'll do it again sometime."

Gaeta finds it hard to look away, but he does. "That's okay. I'm through with wild rides. I ... I'm just glad to be here."

"As I am glad to see you. Carry on, Mr. Gaeta," Helo says formally and it's not until later Gaeta wonders exactly what Helo's rank is now or if that really matters around this place anymore.

He returns to his work, just a little less numb.

~*~

Helo has taken to sharing lunch with him on those days when Gaeta's schedule pushes him into later hours. He wonders where Sharon is and why she isn't sharing the meal with her husband until it strikes Gaeta that he's _never_ seen Sharon in the dining room after her release, not even to pour herself a cup of coffee.

The hard-bitten faces around him, some of them still shooting hatred from every pore in his direction, are a clear testament why.

Helo's jacket is off. The muscles of his arms are so ridiculously developed, it's almost laughable, except that Gaeta sort of wishes he had a physique like that these days, if only as a deterrent. The look must come in handy, especially when one of the ensigns walks by them, muttering and glaring and muttering some more as he stops by the disposable bins.

The look Helo graces him with is one of supreme unconcern. He rises, still chewing and takes his time to swallow before walking over and whispering in the ensign's ear.

Gaeta has no idea what he's saying, except that the ensign pales and immediately becomes more respectful, straightening his back and replying with a soft 'no sir' and 'yes, sir' and a moment later Helo is sitting back down across from Gaeta as if nothing had happened.

The entire room's demeanor changes as well, as the ensign practically flies from the room and Gaeta realizes that's he's been politically ignorant for a lot longer than just the past year. He's never had a _clue_ and it's hard not to gape at Helo who holds up his fork for examination, a white glob stuck on its teeth.

"Do you think these are potatoes? Or some other terrifying life form?"

"I don't know," Gaeta stammers. "Food is food, I guess."

"It's almost a shame we have to eat, in some ways," Helo replies, tucking the food into his mouth. "By the way, I've put a marine guard by your rack for the time being."

"You've what?" Gaeta's heart starts to pound. He's never been fond of change and that wariness has only grown on the past few weeks. "Why?"

"Admiral's orders." Helo glances up from his dessert. "Don't worry. I used to have one myself." He takes a mouthful of what looks like pudding. "They're lots of fun. You can throw things at them and they don't even flinch."

"I ... I don't understand."

"We know what happened," Helo explains softly, polite enough not to comment on the apparent heart attack Gaeta is sure he's having. "It's not going to happen again."

There are a thousand things Gaeta wants to say, all of them pointless and stupid, but his mind and mouth fail him just in time, thank gods.

Besides, Helo is back to being the XO and there's no arguing with that. "Never again, Lieutenant." His eyes are hooded now, filled with what are obviously unpleasant memories. "We are not going to tolerate such behavior, no matter what happened down there. Not the Admiral, not myself and hells take the person who says we don't have the right to make such decisions." He grins slightly. "Or Eurymedon can send them on a ride right back to where they came from."

Now that's a hells of a threat, glorious and gratifying and for the first time Gaeta doesn't regret being a survivor. "Yes, sir," he says gratefully, getting up and saluting, because what else is there to do?

Helo rises, returns the gesture, then stretches with a yawn. "The wife is a real bed hog, boy. My cricks have cricks."

"Congratulations on your marriage, sir," Gaeta says, even though he's not sure it's the right thing to mention or if it's something that will break the moment entirely.

Marrying a Cylon usually isn't a cause for celebration but Helo seems pleased at the remark. "Thank you." He thinks for a minute. "You know, that's the first congratulations I've gotten. So tell me, Felix, when are you taking the plunge into wedded bliss?"

"Never, sir." Immediately, as this has been a conviction Gaeta's had for a while, for a few reasons and he's no longer concerned with how strange it sounds. "This place is one thing. Marriage might actually kill me."

Helo's huge laughter booms out over the mess hall, disturbing the other diners, but he doesn't seem to care. "I'm so glad you're back. There's really no one like you, Mr. Gaeta."

"That's probably a good thing."

"Nah." Helo slips his dark jacket on, leaving the buttons undone. "I'd take twenty of you over ..."

He doesn't complete the sentence, but Gaeta is a good enough guesser to finish it for him -- _over Tigh_ \-- and honestly?

As miserable a person as he is, he couldn't agree more.

~*~

Tigh tries to apologize to Gaeta the next morning. It's the apology of a man who's fallen from some great height and shattered into bits of bone and body parts and Gaeta finds it very easy to accept it gracefully, because a petty part of him knows that an easy response will hurt the old monster the most.

Because Gaeta's been broken too, except that his edges are still big and jagged enough to wound.

Tigh stumbles away, his steps ragged, probably from the loss of his depth vision. He's been sober since they arrived, even if his gait leads everyone to believe he's roaring drunk. Gaeta's tempted to defend him on that score and tell everyone he's utterly dry, because that will create cloying pity for Tigh, which would probably drive him insane, but Gaeta can't be bothered.

Yet. It's always something to keep in mind, however.

Dualla comes in later that day, elegant and beautiful in her new uniform and when she hugs him, it's as close to breaking down as he'll allow himself to get. "You took my last bar of good soap down there, you bastard," she accuses after they part.

"No I didn't," he shoots back, wishing he had an entire ship full of nice soaps and perfumes to give her. "I'm missing a can of shaving cream, by the way."

She leans in close, so they are almost nose-to-nose. "And my legs are soooo smooth."

He can't help but laugh brightly and it's a second of sheer happiness broken almost immediately by Kara's sudden presence on the bridge. Her blonde hair is still long and unkempt and her approximation of a uniform hasn't changed since _that_ night. Pale, with bloodshot eyes, she looks like a wraith of the most dangerous type; something to fear.

"Is there anyone working in here?" Kara grumbles, staring at them.

Dee's demeanor immediately turns ice cold as she returns the glare and Gaeta tries to remember to breathe, knowing the marks from Starbuck's boot are still visible beneath his jaw.

Eventually, Dee turns away from her and grasps his hand with intent deliberateness. "Anyway ... a thousand welcomes," she says formally, in the way of her colony, kissing his forehead twice. "My old friend."

"Joy to you and Lee," he replies, doing the same. "Happiness always."

"We try," Dee smiles. "We're doing pretty good so far, if I must say so myself."

Kara watches this exchange with a sour expression, but says nothing. Not that Gaeta's surprised. There are two of them here, himself and Dee, and the glimmer of their old conspiratorial ways is hanging in the air once again. With this pleasant thought, the weight of fear in Gaeta's chest lifts a little and he turns to Starbuck with the same barbed politeness he treated Tigh with earlier in the day. "May I help you, Lt. Thrace?"

Her cheek twitches, but somewhat to her credit, she doesn't back down. "Is Col. Tigh around?"

"Let me get him for you," Gaeta replies genially. He squeezes Dee's hand one last time. "I'll get that soap for you. Someday."

Dee laughs lightly. "Please do. Lee's the one who likes to smell pretty."

He leaves to fetch Tigh, not worried about Dee because he knows she can hold her own against just about anyone. He wonders vaguely what happened between her and Starbuck, but decides he doesn't give a frak, except that he sincerely hopes Dee gives Thrace hell and enough, a thousand times over, no matter what the cause.

She deserves no less.

\----------

The Admiral accepts Gaeta's typed report with exactly the same expressionless ease he has for the past six years.

"Good work, Mr. Gaeta," he says, after a cursory glance. He puts the report aside. "It's a relief not to have to double-check these things anymore."

"Are you sure, sir? I don't mind having an audit," Gaeta replies. Some curling hair falls in his eyes and he pushes it back. He hasn't cut it yet and he's not sure he ever will because, frak it all, life was too short to keep shaving your head to look acceptable in every death trap you walk into.

Adama laughs shortly. "Just the fact that you don't mind that implies there are no mistakes."

"Such faith is reassuring, sir." He pulls at his tight collar, then unbuttons it all together. New Caprica spoiled him for casual wear, once he gave up the tie, approximately two months into Baltar's reign. If the President couldn't be arsed to wear pants half the day, why did he have to suffer?

Gaeta is now of the mind that he's basically through with suffering and the next person who tries to make him miserable is going to get a boot to shin ... or a knife to the throat, whichever is more convenient.

"There are hard times ahead of us," Adama says, tapping his thumb against the command console. "The Cylons are no longer going to toy with us. We've become too much of a threat. The only problem is, I don't know if we have the power to actually follow through on that threat."

Gaeta wonders why he's privy to this conversation -- Tigh or Helo are nowhere in sight -- but he nods anyway. "Then lets not toy with them anymore. There are plenty of ways to show we mean business, to hold our own. A bully can be put down by more methods than an outright challenge or punch to the nose, sir. In all honesty, sir, they are not the unified fighting unit they like to portray themselves as. There is division in their ranks, serious schisms ... confusion. A single force with a clear, cohesive vision could probably knock them out of the sky for good."

"Our goals have always been pretty straightforward," Adama admits, maybe more to himself than anyone else.

"That's why we keep winning, in spite of it all. Because we've never wavered from being true to ourselves."

Adama's gaze turns piercing. "Is that how you've survived, Mr. Gaeta? By staying true to your beliefs? Because the ones you have are pretty damned strong ..."

Gaeta's mouth turns dry. He realizes he hasn't been talking about fighting against the Cylons at all. He's been thinking about another, much more personal, battle and Adama knows it. "I believe in doing what's right. I just don't always know what the right thing is at any given time. But I try ... I truly try."

"I know you do. That's why you're still here," Adama says. He pushes up his glasses and returns the report to Gaeta's hands. "By the way, you've misspelled my name."

Gaeta glances down at the report's cover. The name _"Gaius"_ is there instead of _"William"_. "My gods ... I ... I'm ...." he stammers, horrified.

"Human," Adama finishes for him. He reaches out and squeezes Gaeta's shoulder. "Thank the gods."

\-------

fin

Comments are appreciated.


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